It's Now or Never
by Mestizaa
Summary: To what extent are Carson and Mrs Hughes a product of their time? Chelsie. In the 60s. Complete for now...


**A/N:**I have an assignment on a book I haven't read that is due in exactly 11.5 hours. What am I doing? Writing Chelsie fic apparently! Good productive use of an hour.

Forgive the spelling/grammar mistakes. My computer is at 15% battery life... and I really couldn't be bothered. I might fix it later if I feel like it.

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**It's Now or Never**

Elsie Hughes sits at the front desk, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Towers of books line the table in front her obstructing her line of sight. Without glancing up, she grabs the leather bound book from the top of the pile to her right and opens it. Turning to the inside of the front cover, she brings her stamp down on the page, marring it with blue ink. She closes it and places it on top of the pile on her left and moves onto the next book.

Her movements are mechanical. It's a process she's been through many times before and repetition has only smoothed out the kinks. She has her system perfected.

She is a little irritated when her flow is interrupted by a man's cough. She glances overtop of her glasses – the question "How can I help you?" on the tip of her tongue – and realizes who it is.

"Mr Carson!"

Her voice cuts through the cloud of silence that surrounds her. She had said his name a lot louder than she had intended, but she doesn't care about the angry shushing directed at her. She is too taken aback, surprised by his impromptu visit. She pushes her glasses onto her forehead. She has so many questions rushing through her mind. "How are you?" she finally asks him in a much softer voice. "It's been awhile."

Mr Cason is a tall man – he has always been tall. He towers over her desk and he ought to feel claustrophobic from the overstuffed shelves surrounding them. But under her gaze, he feels small. He had been so sure of what he was going to say to her, but now, standing here in her library on the receiving end of her luminescent smile, he's not quite sure how to proceed.

"I am well, Mrs Hughes, thank you for asking." His fingers nervously run over the rim of his hat that he holds in front of him. "I'm sorry for interrupting your work."

"You are always welcome to interrupt me." Underneath her teasing tone, there is another layer comprised of the truth. He didn't come by often due to him living in Yorkshire, however whenever he was in London he would stop by the library. She not only welcomed his distractions, she looked forward to them. "What can I do for you today? Are you looking for another recommendation?"

He shakes his head. "Actually, Mrs Hughes, I was hoping you'd join me for dinner tomorrow night."

She is flabbergasted. Her jaw is unhinged and she opens and closes it a few times before she is capable of forming coherent sounds. Nobody has asked her to dinner in a very long time and she's not sure how to react.

Mr Carson reads her shocked expression as the formation of a rejection and quickly starts back-peddling. "I'm sorry –"

"No, I'm sorry," Elsie raises a hand to stop him. "It's been a very long time since I've been asked to dinner."

Mr Carson nods his head in understanding. "Not since Mr Hughes, I presume."

Unexpectedly, Elsie laughs at his statement. "Oh, I've never been married," she clarifies.

His eyebrow rises in confusion. "Then why – ?"

She considers her words carefully. Ever since the War, she had become an expert in half truths. She can tell people she did clerical work for the army, not that she had been part of it. And she can't tell Mr Carson that she had a hard time adjusting after saving lives and that she had gotten sick and tired of being set up with strange men who saw her as a potential wife and not as a potential partner. So when somebody mistook her for _Mrs_, she kept the ruse going. Because it was simple and she was tired of answering questions.

"When a woman reaches a certain age, it is assumed that she's married, or that there is something wrong with her."

"_Is_ there something wrong with you?"

"Probably," she chuckles. "But you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out."


End file.
